


The Feeling is Mutual

by Steadfxst



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Banter, Dick Pics, Drinking, Drunk Texting, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steadfxst/pseuds/Steadfxst
Summary: He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a picture of Wyatt’s dick. He reflexively drops his phone. Well that was…something.





	The Feeling is Mutual

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post: http://steadfast.tumblr.com/post/174216160458/wyatt-drunk-texting-flynn-hahaha-my-dick-is

Flynn’s phone pings, and Flynn gives it a look. Who would possibly be texting him when everyone he knew—and had his secret number--was there, with him, in the bunker? Curious, he unlocks his phone.

_flynnnnnnnnn!_

It was Wyatt. Okay, he’d bite. It wasn’t like he was doing anything else.

_Everything okay?_

He waits.

And waits.

Honestly, he could just get up and go to Wyatt’s room, if he really wanted to find out what the man’s deal was. But he was comfortable as he was: in his sweats and thumbing mindlessly through a magazine.

_i’m durnk_

_Clearly._

Why else would Wyatt be texting him from, what? Ten? Fifteen feet away, at most?

_fuck you_

Flynn rolls his eyes and shuts his phone. There was no way on god’s green earth he was going to dignify that with a response. And there was certainly no way he was going to argue with Wyatt via text. Flynn tosses the magazine aside and opens his Netflix app. There were a few documentaries about Russian oligarchs he’d been meaning to watch for ages. He queues it up.

He gets two minutes in when the notification bar on his screen pops up. He sees a few hints of messages before the notification vanishes, but he doesn’t look at them. He wasn’t going to indulge in such childish behavior during his very limited free time.

Then Wyatt calls him.

“What do you want?” Flynn asks.

"Why aren't you answering my messages?"

“Are you crying?”

“No!” Wyatt says. He sniffs into the receiver. “I’m just allergic to jerks!”

“I’m hanging up now.”

It’s more than he deserved, but Flynn was feeling generous. Obviously the man was going through a hard time since Jessica’s motives had been revealed. He figures that gets him one free pass.

He hits play on the documentary again.

His phone pings again.

He closes the Netflix app and opens his messages, scrolling past the other messages Wyatt had sent him, which all basically amount to his most recent one:

_i hate you_

_I know. The feeling is mutual._

_u stole lucy from me. How is that fair????_

_I guess I’m just better looking than you._

_AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! OKAY!!!_

Flynn knows he should leave it there. For one, this isn’t a fair fight. Obviously Wyatt was impaired. Obviously Wyatt was emotionally compromised. If he leaves it here, they can just laugh it off tomorrow or pretend it never happened. Flynn would be fine with either. He’d had his fun, but now it was time to stop.

_u may be better looking than me, but i’ve got a secret weapon!_

_Oh?_

_my dick is bigger than urs_

It doesn’t take long for Flynn to formulate a reply.

 _Prove it_.

Flynn expects another message to be forthcoming. He assumes Wyatt will message him relentlessly how wrong he was or some other asinine argument.

After ten seconds of staring at his phone with no responses, Flynn locks his it once more. This was ridiculous. This was exactly what Wyatt wanted: he wanted Flynn glued to his phone, reading every text, and responding to his inanities. He’s half-tempted to text Lucy, “Please collect this mess” along with screenshots of his messages, but thinks better of it. He had no problem antagonizing Wyatt, but he had no interest in bothering her. She had enough to worry about right now.

Flynn debates the odds that the second he opens the documentary again will be the second Wyatt texts him more annoying bullshit. Flynn hits play, and enjoys three uninterrupted minutes about the oligarchs.

Ping!

Of course. Flynn sighs and opens his phone.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a picture of Wyatt’s dick. He reflexively drops his phone. Well that was…something.

_well???_

_Well what?_

_the ball is in your court, my friend._

That left him with a few options. (1) He could ignore Wyatt.  (2) He could use the texts and photo as blackmail. (3) He could delete the texts and the pic, and try to forget any of this ever happened. (4) He could reply.

Before Flynn can talk himself out of all the hundreds of reasons this is a bad idea, Flynn sticks his hand down his pants.

Wyatt thought he was bigger. Which, Flynn notes, is absurd. What was Wyatt’s point of reference? Compared to whose dick was his bigger? In the photo, he was holding his hairbrush handle next to it. Was that supposed to impress him? Then again, it was probably the only phallic-shaped object he had on-hand…

He catches a glimpse of the picture again. He scrolls up a little. Flynn could see Wyatt’s abs and pecs were toned. He can also see a little bit of his face in the pic too. Wyatt is smirking up at the camera he must have been holding above himself. In his left hand was his dick and the brush. The patch of skin between the top of his dick and the bottom of his navel is wet.

Flynn moans. His phone pings. He unlocks his screen one-handed.

_if you don’t answer, it means i win._

Flynn bites his lip. Fuck him. He strokes his dick faster. Clear fluid spills down his shaft, and he has to force himself to slow down again. If he came now, it’d ruin everything. He backs out of the messaging app and opens his camera.

He finds himself mirroring Wyatt’s stupid pose. Flynn drags his sweatpants down below his butt, and he hikes his great sweatshirt up until it bunches just below his nipples. He doesn’t have—or need—anything to show his size off. He didn’t have anything abnormally large, but he knew, with provided proof, that he was bigger than Wyatt.

Flynn snaps a pic.

Stupid. This was so stupid. So, so stupid.

He opens the messaging app again.

 _I win_.

He attaches the pic.

He hits send.

He wraps his hand back around his leaking dick and waits.

Flynn moans softly and gently rocks his hips into and out of his fist.

Ping!

_fuck._

Flynn laughs breathlessly, squeezes his hand a little tighter.

_is that from today? just now?_

_Why?_

_because you look hot as fuck._

He wants to reply, but he also wants to finish himself off. He imagines Wyatt is either doing or has done the same. Flynn shivers and moves his hand faster once more.

With a grunt, his back bows, and his orgasm overtakes him. He spills messily into his fist and onto his exposed stomach. He strokes himself through the aftershocks until oversensitivity sets in. He lies flat on his back and pants, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal.

His door opens.

Stupid.

He hadn’t even fucking locked—

“Shit,” Wyatt says.

He steps into Flynn’s room and shuts the door behind him. Flynn can’t think of anything to say. His cheeks flame; he’d been caught red-handed. Flynn uses a corner of his sheet to wipe off his hand and stomach. He cleans off his dick too. He probably should’ve yelled at Wyatt to leave, but at this point, there <i>was</i> no point.

“Something you wanted?” Flynn asks.

Flynn tucks his spent dick back into his pants.

“Yeah, but it looks like I’m too late.”

Flynn looks up. Wyatt was visibly hard in his jeans. It didn’t look comfortable at all.

“Are you asking me to…?”

“And if I was? What would you say?”

Flynn licks his lips.

“I’d say yes.”

Wyatt moves into Flynn’s personal space and mashes their faces together in an approximation of a kiss. He can taste the alcohol that was thick on Wyatt’s tongue. Flynn gently, but forcefully, pushes him away.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re still drunk.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So this isn’t right.”

“Oh, suddenly you have the moral compass around here?”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Wyatt.”

“Fuck.”

Flynn stands and walks him to the door.

“Come back when you’re sober,” he says.

He pats Wyatt on the back twice before shutting the door once more.

Ping!

_maybe I will…_


End file.
